


Call of the Siren

by Lithosaurus



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, F/F, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: In which the sea is freedom and curiosity doesn't kill any cats.





	1. Hut by the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short blip of backstory

In a hut by the sea at the edge of a Rivaini village, a girl lived with her mother and, more often than not, her mother’s clients. Most of them were villagers looking for a hedgewitch’s remedy or rich travelers seeking wisdom of an old magic seer only to find a charlatan. Sometimes, just sometimes, the visitors were something different.

Her mother’s magic was mostly herbs and sleight of hand but she had a bit of the Gift. Some Voices from beyond might speak through her, some unexplainable power might find a conduit, and, as it was a hut by the sea, outsiders might come to talk.

The girl had no talent for spirits, her mother had no patience to teach her her herbs, and no rich visitor would listen to a child, no matter how sharp she was but the girl could swim and that was good enough for the visitors from the sea.

Any Chantry missionary foolish enough to brave the villages of Rivain could tell her that the Mer were not to trusted. Surely, they were demon disguised with human faces, or trapped spirits of drowned sailors, or apostates twisted with dark magic and looking for blood to sustain themselves. The Mer would drag you under the waves and trap your soul in the mortal world where the Maker’s light could not reach you.The Chantry would swear this all and provide verses of the Chant or histories from Chanters that would prove it but the girl didn’t listen to the Chantry.

The girl listened to the Mer because they listened to her.

The Mer who introduced themselves weren’t monsters. They were curious about the people who walked with two legs and lived on dry ground. Their worlds were a different as she could imagine. As interesting as her stories about sheep and trees and fire were to them, the Mer offered something different. Their world below the waves sounded like freedom.

Only once was she offered a way to be in that world. It came from a young Mer who was yet to learn why they kept secrets. She said no. She was just a girl and had not yet learned how to get the price they required.

When the girl was nearly a woman, she left the hut by the sea. It wasn’t by her choice. A rich man saw her beauty and youth and wanted it for his own. He gave her mother a token gift and took the burden she had never wanted.

The girl learned to hate him. The Chantry warned of Mer stealing the lives of the innocent but not of men who would do the same.

A year wasn’t too bad. Two was no worse than the hut by the sea. Three and the girl fought the chains that held her. Four, she hated and feared and despised the rich man who had bought her and sought to own her.

The gilded cage where she was trapped was a mansion by the sea. Cliffs as walls kept her ‘safe’ from the outside world but the girl could swim and the girl always had more bravery than was smart. She was brave, and she no longer cared if leaping into the sea would end it.

It would have but the sea was where her only friends had been.

The same child who had offered her a life below the waves found her. They were not much of a child anymore and neither was she. They traded stories about their lives. The world below the waves was much the same but the world above them had changed for her. The Mer was curious then aghast then furious. Once again, they made her an offer.

 _Bring me the heart of this man._  They whispered in a language that was not truly spoken. _The only cruelty below the waves is survival. There are no masters and no evil. Bring me his heart and not only will he never harm you again, but I’ll make it so no one can ever cage you._

She had said no, when the offer first came but she wasn’t the little girl from the hut by the sea. The Chanters would shriek that this was when the demon revealed itself, that this was proof that it wanted her soul. She saw differently. She saw a way to hold her own life in her hands. But first, she would need to hold her husband’s.

With a Mer’s promise, an elf’s knife, and her own daring, she killed the man. She took his heart to the Mer, she took his ship and took his gold but she earned the respect of his men. With a new power in her veins, a new ship beneath her feet, and a new name on her lips, the woman took her place on the seas.


	2. The Gallows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Holiday

The chains were up between the Twins. She had only seen them up three times in her decade in and out of Kirkwall. It was never a good sign. If she had to guess, it was due to the Fereldans flooding the city. The Siren’s Call had been in Denerim just a month ago and the entire country was a mess. They were propositioned by dozens of families trying desperately to get away from the horde and to the Free Marches or beyond. She had refused. They had a vital delivery to Highever that couldn’t afford any delays or extraneous passengers. It hardly mattered in the end. They ended up in Kirkwall anyway.

Or outside of Kirkwall.

There ‘quick detour’ to the City of Chains was devolving into a multi-week wait as the harbor masters struggled to sort through the build-up of ships waiting outside the unique harbor. If she hadn’t respected Short Greg as much as she had, she would have just given his body to the sea and throw Wrat in after him, let him swim to shore if he wanted to live.

But Short Greg had specifically asked for her to deliver his body to his mother if he died. She wasn’t going to deny him his last request, not when he had been such a damn good look out. As much as she scoffed at the superstitious belief that those ‘buried’ at sea became hosts for monsters and Mer, she wouldn’t keep her surviving crew if they believed she offered blood sacrifices to the depths or such nonsense.

Respect for the dead or not, she had a potential deal set up with Castillon in Bastion two weeks from now. There was no way she could meet him if they didn’t leave today. This was the last chance she had to do things right before chucking a few more bodies in Kirkwall’s bay.

Fortunately, they finally had one of the beaurocrats aboard. Unfortunately, he was an incompetent.

“Serah, I am sorry but I can’t allow you into the city, not without documented-” He repeated.

“ _I_ don’t need into the city.” She snapped. “I need to get a corpse into the city! Do you want to see it? Will that be enough proof? Can I send a message to his mother to verify his identity? He’s only a bit rotted.”

The peon bristled. “There’s no need to be short with me, captain. I have already told you I don’t have the correct forms for transporting a body into Kirkwall. There are protocols! We can’t have potential sources of plague introduced. Especially not if your last port was in Ferelden!”

“He was stabbed. He was perfectly healthy and then he was stabbed. I have the blighted murderer on board. He can give you a full confession.”

“Murderer? Tell me this isn’t the crewman you are trying to leave behind.”

Isabela kicked herself, she shouldn’t have let that slip. “No, I want to keep the gutless fool on board. Just let me off load one dead body and one should-be dead body then I’ll get away from your city and stop being your headache.”

“The guard can’t take responsibility for a murderer with no proof! He’ll sit in our prisons-”

“I’m trying to give you the blighted proof!” She roared. He clutched his writing board to his chest and tried to look brave. The work on deck stopped. Every single crewman stopped in their duties and looked to the harbor master’s assistant.

“Still got the jolly boats, Captain.” Casavir suggested. “We can just make do. Head in when night falls.”

“Nonsense,” The Kirkwaller snapped. “I’d warn the guards of your plan.”

“Not if you don’t go back to the city.” Isabela drawled.

“What do- ah, yes. That is an interesting point.” He fiddled with the papers pinned to his board.

“Er, how about we do this. You take one of your dinghies to the Gallows with the two men and leave them in the care of the Templars there. They will be able to transport the criminal to the guard without the necessary legal documentation and can provide rites for your dead.”

“He wished for his body to be delivered to his mother.” Isabela reminded him.

“And you can relay that to the Knight Commander.” He was edging backwards. “I believe that addresses both of your issues. I’ll tell the Gallows you’re coming and get out of your hair.” He was halfway onto the ropeladder tying his caravel to the _Siren’s Call_.

“Thank you for you cooperation, serah.” Isabela gave him her sweetest smile and held out her hand.

He skittered forward anxiously and shook her hand with the bare minimum of contact. Honestly, who boards a ship full of pirates and only notices when they actively threaten him?

With the bureaucrat gone and a plan in place, Isabela’s mood greatly improved. They would be cutting it close but they would make it to Bastion in time as long as the weather held. It would. She could tell.

The Gallows were swarming with people. Fereldan refugees, Templar guards, Kirkwall merchants, and a few rare mages packed the main yard of the prison turned slightly-different-prison. Casavir and Ollivan were behind her with Short Greg’s body. She didn’t have to look at them to know they were on edge. Every bit of magic in her hated it. The smell of lyrium was choking and the fear in the air was worse.

Thankfully, the fact that they had a corpse on a litter and a man in chains persuaded most people to let them go about their business. A rather irritated guard sent them to hunt down a ‘Captain Ewald’ by themselves rather than stop harassing the new arrivals for a minute. Isabela was sure that this would mean another few hours chasing down Ewald and pleading their case before being pawned off to his immediate superior but the man actually seemed inclined to help. A rare trait in Kirkwall.

He arranged for a sister to take Casavir’s body until his mother could arrive and ordered for Wrat to be held in one of the empty cells as he waited to stand trial. The murderer didn’t even protest when a pair of helmeted Templars dragged him off to some dark dank dungeon, hopefully to be forgotten and rot in the dark. It was better than he deserved for killing a good man.

She was ready to walk off the miserable spit of land and do her best to forget this ever happened when a commotion caught her attention. A Fereldan refugee wearing armor with three others and a dog behind her had a shabbily dressed man by the collar.

“We’re your family!” She yelled.

“And that didn’t seem to matter when your mother ran off with her apostate!” The man did his best to wriggle free but it was useless. “Or when her _family_ was dying while she was playing house with dogs! I have your word that you’re Leandra’s children and nothing else. I can tell you, missy; you wouldn’t get much good will from that. Let me go, you dog shit covered mongrel.”

“You were saying something about me lacking good will?” Said it easily and smoothly but judging by the man freezing in place, he picked up on the layers beneath.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Ewald was still present.

“Let him go.” The guard ordered. “I already went out of my way to bring him here. I can’t have you killing him.”

The angry Fereldan sighed dramatically and shoved the man away. He stumbled backward before landing on his ass.

“You’re right. About this and your earlier comment.”

“Thought so.” Ewald answered drily.

She sighed. “So, back onto a ship and try hope we find another guard with useless underlings to save? Or do you have any other options up your shiny vambraces?”

“Captain?” Asked Casavir. She was delaying.

Isabela held up a hand and casually walked closer to the Fereldans and Ewald.

“Sadly no. I still have higher ups with their own rules. You’ll have to take ship after all.” Ewald said.

“But we have no money.” Another Fereldan, a girl who sang like magic, piped up.

“Then indenture yourself to a captain.” Ewald suggested. “Truly, I wish I could help but-”

“But maybe I can.” Isabela swooped in.

Ewald and the Fereldans blinked at her. The Kirkwaller who didn’t help took his chance to make a retreat.

“Captain Isabela of the _Siren’s Call_.” She introduced herself. “Currently anchored just offshore and looking for a new recruit or two. I heard something about saving guards and I admire a woman who throw a man on his ass without trying.”

The Fereldan eyed her up with a suspicious look. Isabela knew how she looked and eyed right back. Three of the four were siblings with the same pale skin, large eyes, and straight nose. Two had jet black hair but the apparent leader had ashy blonde locks tied back loosely. The fourth Fereldan eyed Isabela as if she was a snake rather than a person, an expression somewhat undermined by her blazing red hair and _adorable_ little headband.

Only the smallest woman bore any strong sing of magic but there was something about the leader. She was no mage, it wasn’t that sort of song. It was something else. Like she was carrying a little piece of someone else’s power.

The dog was a dog as far as she could tell. Isabela was a sailor, not a Fereldan.

“Should I take that to mean that ‘Captain Isabela of the _Siren’s Call’_ is offering us a way out of here.” The blonde woman asked.

“Yes, won’t even call it an indenturship. Sail with us, pull your weight, and I’ll a pay you. You can leave at any port we dock in- or any other time if your adventurous. I pay good wages and treat my sailors right.”

“You don’t even know us.” The boy snapped. “And we don’t know you.”

“Let’s see then, shall we?” Isabela made a show of looking him up and down and threw her weight on one foot. “Fereldans, with swords and armor and one shield bearing the sigil of the king, a war hound, and some lovely little muscles in those arms, Squirt. You’re soldiers, or perhaps mercenaries with scavenged arms. You’re fleeing from that disaster at Ostagar but you’re alive so either you’re cowards, which you’re not judging by your saving of our helpful Captain Ewald here, or you can fight.”

None of them protested so she smiled and continued.

“Solders it is then. Soldiers and an _otherwise talented_ young lady. I can always use skilled fighters on my ship and you seem to be in need of a ship. A fair solution to all our problems.”

That was the wrong thing to say. It was a subtle change but clear. The leader rested her hand on her sword hilt, ostensibly to shift her weight but it was a clear warning. The redhead squared her shoulders and the boy widened his stance, blocking a bit more of the girl from her view. The girl in question swallowed but managed to look annoyed at the display of her friends.

“I’d take it.” Captain Ewald reminded them he was still there. “It’s a way out of the Gallows and at least somewhat steady work.”

“Well if our Captain Ewald recommends it…”

“I recommend it too.” Isabela grinned. Smiled really, it was charming. “Back me up here Casavir.”

“She’s a fair captain.” He verbally shrugged. “And the _Call_ is a better place than this.”

“A glowing recommendation.” Isabela tolled her eyes. He could learn when not to play straight man to her banter.

“Hawke,” The redhead warned.

‘Hawke’ turned and looked at her companions. The redhead was suspicious, the girl even more so with an added layer of fear, and the boy was trying not to look interested.

“Carver? Anything to add?” Asked Hawke.

“Why ask me?”

“Because I want to hear you agree so I can rub it in your face when you’re complaining a month from now.”

“Whatever.” He huffed.

Hawke snorted and turned back to Isabela. “Wouldn’t hurt to see the ship, Captain.”


	3. Bastion

Bastion was, to Isabella, the perfect city. It was a bustling, chaotic mess crouched so close to the sea that the boundary between solid ground and salty water was near invisible in most places. Muddy wooden walkways on the mainland gave way to docks without pause and the uncountable jagged islands that dotted the harbor anchored boats and teetering wooden structures alike. Each rain washed the filth and stink that came from thousands of lives lived packed together into the water and left the city clean. The waters surrounding the Antivan port were relatively friendly and predictable. The shallows made an excellent training ground for new recruits; Astrid Hawke, in this case.

The other three refugees they had taken on in Kirkwall seemed straightforward enough. Carver had more muscle than anyone person should ever be allowed and put it to good use hauling lines yet seemed a bit lacking in demeanor. Bethany was withdrawn and would have seemed broody and sullen if Isabela didn’t know why she jumped whenever Ser Tom, their washed out Templar spoke up. Even their dear dog Shartan seemed normal enough for a Mabari, though that was far from normal as far as Isabela was concerned.

Aveline was a stick in the mud and little else.

But Astrid Hawke; she was keeping a secret that Isabela hadn’t puzzled out. She’d piece it together eventually. Or kick the group off her boat if she couldn’t. She had taken Hawke (she wrinkled her nose at ‘Astrid’) out on one of the shore boats to teach her the ropes of sailing and to subtly interrogate the woman.

Isabella kept one eye on the Fereldan and the other on the blue waters around them. It was hardly necessary; she could hear the patterns waves and the wind better than her eyes could ever show her. Hawke gingerly tacked into the wind as it changed and kept the little jolly boat on the same course.

“Good, watch those shoals.” Hawke nodded and carefully tilted the rudder. She was clumsy and uncertain but that was better than oversteering.

“Your red headed friend won’t stay.” Isabela said

Hawke squinted at her for a moment. She ignored Hawke’s confusion and continued.

“It’s a pity. She’s taking to the work and has discipline.”

“Ah, yes. Aveline is…she follows her morals.” Hawke conceded. “Damn loyal, too, even if she’s half Orlesian. She’s practically family at this point.”

“Fleeing for your life is a bonding experience, isn’t it?”

“Easier to hold onto things when you lose most of belongings.” Hawke gave her a half-smile.

So what had they lost? She’d heard the name ‘Wesley’ mentioned and knew they came from Lothering, a town that had taken the full brunt of the horde’s might. But they were alive.

Hawke was watching her rather than the waves. Isabela made eye contact and smiled with full teeth.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Hawke. My reputation doesn’t extend to my crew- at least not unless they deserve it. I won’t throw Aveline at the nearest spit of land and sail away. We’ll find a city for her.”

“What about Kirkwall? Now that we know what’s going on there, do you think we could get her into the city?”

“What is so important about Kirkwall, I wonder.”

“We have- or had- family there.” Hawke promptly returned to looking at the waves.

“Does that include the greasy looking man who ‘helped’ you in the Gallows?”

“Dear uncle Gamlen. He’s not the only connection we have.”

Hawke was still watching the waves. The girl needed to learn that lying could show in what you didn’t do, not just what you did. Kirkwall was a rotting, stinking hole that made her scales itch. There must really be some connection. Maybe it had to do with the strange hum of magic than hung around Hawke.

Isabela kicked her bare feet up and rested them against the bench seat near Hawke. Hawke’s eye flicked down her legs for a moment before returning to the water around them.

“And then there’s Carver, your brother. He seems to be doing better. Hasn’t even slammed his head on any beams in…must be hours now.”

Hawke snorted. “He only learns by slamming his head against things. He’s going to absorb a lifetime of sailing know-how through his forehead.”

“And you’re stuck learning the old fashion way.”

“ ‘snot all bad.”

“If Carver magically absorbs information by slamming his head against things does Bethany just magically learn things? What with her being a mage-”

Hawke moved. One moment she was at the other end of the boat, the next she had her hand around Isabella wrist and her foot digging into Isabella’s knee. The Fereldan pinned her with a knee in her back and her left arm wrenched backwards. It would have been easy to chock it up to Hawke’s size and strength but Isabella had been caught off guard and she was paying for it with her chin slammed against the rough hull of the boat.

“How’d you know!” Hawke demanded and pulled her arm further backwards.

“How’d I know that your sister was a mage?”  Isabella stalled and considered what excuse could get her out of this. Hawke yanked her daggers out of their sheaths and dropped them in the bottom of the boat.

“Answer, please, Captain. I’m beginning to think I may have been a bit hasty and would like a way to de-escalate this.”

What was the worst that could happen?

“Oh, I have an answer.” Isabella grinned. She rolled with Hawke’s grip on her arm. Her shoulder dislocated for a moment before snapping her foot up into Hawke’s elbow and broke free. Wrist free, she rolled to her back and slammed her bare foot into Hawke’s nose. The Fereldan stumbled back onto her haunches and against one of the gunwale. The little boat rocked dangerously and Isabella threw her weight sideways, flipping it entirely.

The cool, salty water of the Waking Sea swallowed her up. The song was louder under the waves, like always. She let it swallow her just like the water. The jewel at her throat grew warm for a moment as the magic took hold.

Her legs twined together and her feet stretch while her skin turned to scales. Gills opened along her ribs and neck letting her take a breath of water. The sunlight filtering down seemed to grew brighter for a moment as her eyes changed. The water had seemed cool and the sound of waves overly-loud a moment ago but now she felt perfectly at home.

A glint of light caught her attention. The two daggers Hawke had taken dropped through the water. She dove and grabbed them from the shallow seabed. Another easy twist and she was heading back to the surface.

Hawke was holding onto the edge of the boat and treading water when Isabella surfaced on the other side. Blood dripped from her nose and her hair seemed almost translucent when soaked.

“I wasn’t going to address capsizes until later but this is a good time.” She smiled and traced the edge of her fin along Hawke’s calf. The Fereldan jerked backwards and splashed gracelessly for a moment before regaining her grip.

“And, I have an answer that question of yours.” Isabella pulled herself onto the hull of the boat with a beat of her tail. “Bethany doesn’t need to fear me or my crew. The Chantry is very far away at sea.” She lifted her tail and left it fan out behind her.

Hawke stared. “What are you?”

“Do they tell stories of Mer and monsters on Fereldan farms?”

“I thought they were just nursery rhymes that sailor’s told.”

Isabella shrugged. “For the most part yes, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t start with something true. Now, let go and I’ll show you how to right a turtled boat.”

Hawke kept her grip on the gunwale for a long moment before she let go. She kept quiet as they righted the boat and climbed back in. It was graceless on Hawke’s part. She was far too used to having solid ground beneath her feet. If Isabella was just a bit more theatric than usual, it was purely to make a good example.

Isabella kept her tail for longer than was strictly necessary. With the jolly boat righted, the sails drying, and Hawke manning the oars, she stretched her tail out over one of the gunwales and enjoyed the sun on her scales. The blue of the sky overhead reflected in the blue of her scales and the sun warmed them wonderfully. Hawke’s transparent stares weren’t half bad either.

“Is that’s how you knew about Bethany.” Hawke nodded at her tail. “Some sort of Mer magic?”

“I could hear her. Magic has a song and I could hear the magic in her, just like I can hear the magic on you.”

“I’m no mage.” Hawke frowned. “I’m just a regular human. Well, elf-blooded but still no magic.”

Isabella looked more closely at Hawke. She hadn’t had the faintest inkling that one of their parents had been an elf. None of the siblings looked it, especially Hawke and Carver with their towering frames.

“There is magic about you.” Isabella insisted. “Something that I’m not familiar with. That worries more than any shy Fereldan apostate.”

Hawke opened her mouth to repeat her denial but stopped. She swallowed and reached under her shirt.

“Could it be this?” She offered a simple, carved wood amulet with a glass bauble in the center. The carved wood and bright glass had a mesmerizing shine in the bright sunlight. Isabella reached forward, almost transfixed by the shine and hum. She brushed her fingers against the glass and-

Fire. Fire and rushing wind and a song so old the words had worn away leaving nothing behind but emotion behind. She was twelve and listening to the stories told to her by the Mer. They had stories about old things that lived in the deepest waters, things that were so old they’d forgot how they were created. She was six and watching under a door as her mother hosted a spirit that spoke in a language with fear in the place of words. She was nineteen and watching as Luis’s heart writhed with magic.

She jerked her hand back and the song faded back to the hum she’d heard originally.

“Captain?” Hawke dropped the amulet and leaned forward over the oars. She was wide eyed and curious, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there was something old and powerful and as far from the sea as could be living around her neck.

Isabella blinked away the fear that told her to dive deep below the water and hide when shadows passed over head.

“Interesting little bauble you have there. Is it a family heirloom or something you found yourself.”

“A gift, of sorts.” Hawke answered, she tucked it back under her shirt.  Isabella could still see the shape of it as the wet linen stuck to Hawke’s skin.

“We should exchange Wintersend lists if that’s the sort of gift you get.”

“It was a one-time deal, hopefully, and not a permanent fixture.” Hawke took the oars back up. “Really, it was more of an exchange.”

“You must have paid something dear to get that.” Isabella shivered as the alien memory of wind rushing underneath her tugged at her mind. “What gave it to you and why would they part with it?”

“So you know what it is? Bethany has been too afraid to pry at it much and doesn’t think she knows enough to say any way.”

Isabella didn’t answer, her fingers traced the gem at her throat before she caught herself. She gripped the bench below her and tried to ignore her shakes.

“We got it from a dragon. Or an old woman- both? When we were trying to outrun the horde in Lothering, were got surrounded by darkspawn. They killed Mother and Aveline’s husband Wesley. We would have been next but a dragon swooped in and destroyed the group attacking us. Evidently we made good entertainment fighting for our lives.

“When she heard we wanted to get to Kirkwall, she agreed to take us to Gwaren to catch a ship in exchange for taking this. I’m supposed to take it to a Dalish clan camping on the Sundermount mountain near Kirkwall.”

“Do that.” Isabella cut in.

“Pardon?”

“First chance you get, take it to the elves. It doesn’t do well to fail your side of a bargain with something like a dragon.”

“But what _is_ it?”

Isabella still didn’t have a good answer for her. “You know, we have stories, too. The Mer tell stories of dragons and darkspawn. Stories have an element of truth to them. Fire and flying isn’t what I’m suited for but I can say that much.”

“Do you know what it is?”

She knew enough. She knew that only old and powerful magic could trap a soul in an object that wasn’t alive itself. The gem at her throat felt heavy. Old powerful magic could trap souls, preserve them, or use them. Whatever reason the Dalish elves had to want a piece of a dragon was not something a Mer should concern itself with.

“Your little dragon friend gave you a passenger.” She finally said. “What that passenger is is not something I want to explore. Best to send it on its way, it’s not something meant for the Sea.”

The creak of wood and water dripping from oars was the only sound coming from the boat. They were nearly back to _The Siren’s Call_ when Hawke spoke again.

“So…are you going to tie me to an anchor and drop me off the side of the boat?” It took Isabella a moment to remember that they had had quite the conflict before Hawke’s amulet was addressed.

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” Isabella smiled. “But, no. That would be a waste of a good anchor. Hawke, you do not have to worry about me killing you unless you make me. You sister is safe, you brother will find a place, and your freckled friend will safely be delivered to Kirkwall with your…passenger in tow.”

“What about Shartan?”

“The heretic?”

“The dog.”

“Fereldans.” Isabella rolled her eyes. “Your dog will be spoiled rotten by your crewmates. As long as he doesn’t bother Spots, he can join our rat catching team.”

Hawke gave her a genuine grin. “Then things sound good.”

“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”


	4. Isle de Leon

The _Etienne Royale_ sat like an overfed cow in the bay. The gentle waves lapped uselessly against her wooden hulls. Three masts boasted the colors of Orlais and house Montfort with silk sails dyed royal blue to match. Over 350 Orlesian sailors manned her multiple decks. Isabella could see a few dozen on duty. Admiral Leonese de Montfort patrolled the deck of her miniature Queendom with eagle eyes and an iron fist.

The _Royale_ was the first of its kind. No other ship could match its size or force. The pair of smaller striker boats hoisted above the water line were larger than some pirate schooners she’d seen. Three dozen ballistae sat on its decks, covering every angle and ready to punch hole straight through the hulls of smaller boats with enchanted bolts. Four trebuchets crouched with twenty foot extendable arms ready to hurl death. Two mages hailing from noble families and loaned from the White Spire could rain destruction down just as easily as the war machines. A least a dozen chevaliers were stationed in the crew to repel boarders and that was only if the an attacker had managed to survive long enough to get that close. It was a fortress on the water.

Somewhere in that mess was a single barrel of stolen gaatlok powder and Isabela needed to find it.

“That’s a bit larger than I expected.” Hawke whispered and handed the spyglass back to her.

“Will Shartan be able to find it?” Isabela didn’t take her eyes off the ship.

“Yes but I don’t know if we’ll find it quickly.”

“My sources say it’s stored inside the Admiral’s personal quarters. The manifest lists it as part of her effects. Will that narrow the field down enough?”

Hawke squinted down at the ship.

“Poopdeck? The glass windows on the back right?”

“You already knew that. You just wanted an excuse to say ‘poopdeck’.”

“You can’t prove that.” Hawke grinned. “Could we go in through the windows? Grapple up the back and break in through the glass like a house breaker?”

“Doubtful.” Isabella shook her head. “I’ve seen pieces of the original blueprints. The commander’s quarters are half the size of our lower hold. Knowing Orlesians, it will be decorated like a clothiers exploded in there. It would take half a night just to find the gaatlok. We need Shartan’s nose and I doubt he can climb a rope. We’ll go in through the ballista hatch on the lower deck. It will be riding low enough by the time we come to that.”

“You have a plan?”

“Always.”

 Isabella turned her face into the wind. A storm brewed beyond Isle de Leon and Jader. Admiral de Montfort had sailed the Waking Sea for decades but not even she could see the storm they’d be sailing into, she’d need to hear the song of the water for that.

“And you’re not going to share it, are you.”

“I have mysterious charm to preserve, Hawke.”

Hawke laughed. “You’ve got plenty of charm, don’t worry about that.

“Shush. Head back to the _Siren’s Call_ and tell Casavir to prepare to lift anchor.”

Below them in the harbor, Admiral de Montfort was ordering the same. The twilight of the setting sun was falling and a mist was growing over the water.

Hawke saluted and disappeared back into the forest. Their vessel was anchored another mile down the coast, waiting for the order to start the chase. Each person on that boat was ready to bring the full force of their unique skills to a fight. Isabella hoped that if she did her job, that wouldn’t have to.

She picked her way through the tress to the edge of the water and slipped in like returning to a lover’s bed. As the crew bustled overhead, loading fresh food and water from the island and stowing equipment, Isabella set to work. With a wood bore, she hollowed out a dozen small holes on both sides of the hull and slipped small, fragile vials of concentrated acid between the ballast stone. One hard rock of the ship and they fracture, releasing the corrosive mixture that would eat through tar and wood to leave gaping holes in the hull, spilling out the ballast, and letting the double layered hull take on water. In one more location closest to their port side entry point, she opened up a hole large enough to remove ballast directly. She bored through the inner hull and felt water begin to flow into the hold. It could take days for someone to find the small leak and in that time, the slow flow of water would add up.

She moved on to lynchpin of her plan; the rudder. Ropes as thick as her arm ran from the wheel through the various decks and down to the top immense steering apparatus. When she first saw the sketch of the design from her bribed dry dock worker, she never thought it would work yet here it was in front of her. Designed by an exiled smith from Kal’Sharock, it used a complex pulley system to turn the massive ship with the sort of speed one would expect from a vessel half its size. Moreover, it was controlled directly from the top deck, rather than relying on a tiller hidden in the hold getting orders shouted down at them.

Isabella scaled the massive rudder and crawled into the woodwork of the _Royale._ Her gills fluttered as she felt her way through the dark, claustrophobic passage. No other saboteur could reach this vulnerability. They’d drown before they even got close to the ropes, let along survive long enough to saw through the them and then get back out. They’d need to breath water and that was outlandish, after all.

Isabela felt her way through the darkness until her fingers hit hemp. She slid her serrated blade out of its sheath and began the arduous process. She was halfway through when she felt the ship rock as the anchor was lifted aboard. She increased her pace as her arms burned. She was three-quarters through when the rudder move.

It was a subtle shift of just a few degree but it struck her like a twenty foot wave. She slammed into the wall behind her and nearly dropped the blade. She could feel the rudder and the hull on either sides and knew that if the rudder would move more, she would be crushed like a bug beneath a boot. She gripped the blade in her teeth and jammed the wood bore into the rudder with a few quick cranks. She was nearly done when the rudder moved again, slamming the bore against the edge of its casings. Metal screeched and the sound warped under water to sound like a sea wraith’s scream. The rudder strained against the obstacle. She felt the fibers of rope still holding the rudder in place. It felt too thick. Would it break under the strain of the storm ahead? She didn’t know, but she knew she had to get out now or be crushed to death, trapped in the dark without anyone knowing where she had gone.

The casing was too small for her to turn around so she had to shove herself downward with her arms and beat her tail awkwardly. The path down felt as if it would never end. The world focused down to the sound of creaking rope and straining metal. A faint glow of moonlight grew below her. With one last frantic shove, she was out.

Isabella didn’t look back, just turned tail and bulleted away through the open water. She breached a few times like the dolphins had taught her as she swam back. The feel of unrestricted air helped blow away the panic that wrapped around her throat like a hand as she remembered the feeling of the rudder trapping her in the dark.

The quarter moon shone over head with clouds scudding over it from time to time. In the distance, a pod of whale sang to their calves. The tide rose as if reaching for the moon overhead and the song of the water filled her heart. No crushing rudder, no confining walls, she was free.

By the time she was back at the _Siren’s Call_ , her heart beat from exertion, not fear. She nearly scared Pebble straight back to Orzammar when she scaled up the hull.

“Captain! I didn’t see you. I mean-” The sentry correct.

“Relax, dear, that was the point.” She waved off the girl’s concerns.

“Should we weigh anchor, Captain?” Cassavir didn’t blink an eye at her sudden appearance.

“Right away, we have a warship to hunt.” Isabella took her rightful place next to her helmsman and the _Siren’s Call_ pulled out onto the open water, ready to catch its prize.

Pyper spotted a lantern light within an hour. Even with three masts, the _Royale_ had nothing on the _Call_ for speed. Isabella ordered the sails trimmed and hung back. The longer the Orlesians thought they had gone unnoticed, the better. Dawn broke and the first visible signs of the coming storm. Clouds rose in the distance and the ships slowed as the wind changed. The two vessels drew closer as the storm grew in the distance.

“It will be big?” Hawke asked as she squinted into the distance.

“Bigger than you’ve seen yet, but don’t you worry your pretty little head; our girl has faced worse and come out fine the other side. All we need to do is wait.”

“You knew this was coming.” Hawke accused her.

“The storm? Of course. I also know that the _Royale_ is about to have some very bad luck.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes but didn’t question her further.

If the clouds had scared Hawke, it was nothing compared to when they reached the storm itself. Ten foot swells rocked the ship, rain belted the crew like bullets, and the afternoon sky turned near dark as night.

Isabella watch the Hawke sisters as the clung to the rails and waited for the parts to play. Their brother took a break in his duties to join them. Hawke’s face was white against her freckles. The red scarf she used to keep the sun off her fair skin soaked through and bled dye over her armor. The oil paint across the bridge of her to cut the (now obscured) sun’s glare ran made her look as if she was bleeding. If she wasn’t so clearly spooked, it would have been quite an intimidating look.

With just a few hundred yards left between them, Isabella ordered the team to gather at the jolly boat. Already a few bolts from the aft ballistae had cut too close for her liking. Any closer, and the _Royale_ would merely need to turn broadside and riddle them with more holes than a slice of emmental cheese.

Hawke, Bethany, Wizz, and Olivan gathered before her with Shartan trying to hide from the rain behind Hawke’s legs. Carver lingered before Casavir ordered him back up the main mast.

“Just ahead of us is a seamount.” Isabella announced. “With this weather, the waves will be breaking there. The _Royale_ will try to steer around it but the wind will drive it right to the wave. She’ll find herself suddenly unable to steer, list to port and expose the starboard side to the full brunt of the wind and the list to port that’s already developing will become a much bigger issue.

“The biggest issue they face will be us. Wizz, Bethy, we’re going to need a covered approach right up to the beast. Olivan, I need you to keep the jolly close enough for a quick escape as me and Hawke do our work inside.”

She pulled the tiny wax envelope of gaatlok she bought for a small fortune and brandished it to the group.

“This is what we’re looking for. Gaatlok, the deadliest thing on these fair seas. The qunari can blow a ship out of the water quick than a water spout with this stuff and the Orlesians managed to get their hands on a whole barrel of it. Shartan and Hawke will board with me, find our way to the Admiral’s quarters, grab the barrel from its hiding place and be out before the Orlesians realize the storm isn’t their only problem.”

The small squad nodded- or the squad nodded with the obvious exception of Shartan and Hawke.

“Issue, Astrid?” Isabella asked.

“The swells are a touch large, aren’t they, Captain.” She said carefully.

“Yes, they are, keen observation.”

“Maybe even larger than that jolly boat.”

Isabella quirked an eyebrow. “Not scared are you?”

“I’ve got the waves taken care of, don’t cha worry.” Wizz grinned, showing off whale bone dentures.

“I don’t doubt that, Wizz.” Hawke quickly corrected. “I’m just worried what might happen if something changes our plan.”

“We’ll improvise.” Isabella said.

Hawke looked uncertain but nodded and squared her shoulders against the pounding rain.

Just then, a snap from the _Royale_ cracked through the air, even with the howling wind. The _Royale_ pivoted as if a great hand had batted its bow and the ship leaned like tree in a windstorm.

“That would be our cue.” Isabella grinned and barked out her order for the jolly boat to be lowered.


End file.
